The Rules of Rome

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I.

I fall asleep before the plane takes off.

They tell you that
a demon is sitting on you;
I am afraid
of
sleep
paralysis.

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II.
Our first night in Rome
we collapse, exhausted
unsure
how to say hello.
First impressions of sweat and jetlag make for strong bonds later.

Double, triple-lock the door.
¡Do not leave the windows open!
I gasp

in my sleep
and wake up my roommates.

Fan runs all night long.

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III.
“I am in Rome.”
I tell it to myself

out loud.

A stranger is someone who is unsure.

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IV.

There are no teenagers, or businessmen, or children
with white headphones
dangling out of their ears.

The city
blasts
with pop music from the 90’s, even in
the jazz bar.

“People in Roma don’t like American music,”
the bartender proudly proclaims.
Britney Spears (pre- rehab)
playing in the background and

opera
in the tabacchi.

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V.
“Allora”
they say when you ask for directions,
when there is a
pause

in the conversation,
when they see a lady
who looks good in the street.

Ciao bella—
I have not come here on an Audrey Hepburn holiday.

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VI.
The rule is:
no repeating gelato flavors.

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VII.
Lift my laptop
sky-high,
no network connections;
is anybody there?

I lost my
handy Italian dictionary.
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VIII.
Is this the entrance to the duomo? I ask in
my best Italian; he responds

in Spanish.
A stranger cannot hide.

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IX.
I have not come here
to eat pasta

with Nutella.

And yet
they are two great foods
of this country

(best kept apart.)

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X.
The laundry takes six hours
we comply
to its cycle

hang our clothes on the line
letting them dry
while we sleep.

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XI.
I dream of

riding in the back of
a little Vespa

and wake up to the

sound of the
market below.

I have not come here to dream.
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XII.
Tomorrow I will ride an Italian scooter.